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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757718">I Knew You When</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket'>wocket</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 US Presidential Election, Angst, Current Events, Death, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Politics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:34:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>January 6, 2021.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mike Fortier/Lori Fortier, Tim McVeigh/Mike Fortier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Knew You When</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I tend to use music for inspiration. This isn't a song fic but I definitely had this on loop while writing this: <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0vmWfYpf4SlDO9tW8NP1wE?si=CY86SkmlTAujjk7AEHWNQA">I Knew You When by Bob Seger</a></p><p>I guess this is a companion piece to Razor's Edge. Same vibe.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>January 6, 2021</b>
</p><p>“Mike. Mike!” </p><p>Lori’s voice is like thunder, drawing Mike back to reality. She’s standing in the doorway between the sofa and the kitchen, hands on her hips.</p><p>“Just a minute,” Mike tells her, distracted. He’s invested in the TV. Breaking news has been running all afternoon. The president of the United States has been claiming some bullshit about a stolen election just because he finds the results unfair. Just after two o’clock in the afternoon, a mass of violent protestors began storming the U.S. Capitol. The angry mob consists of loyal supporters of the President and knuckleheads in tactical gear. Mike is watching, enraptured, as they break in, bashing cops and stealing things right before their eyes.</p><p>“Dinner’s ready,” Lori points out.</p><p>“I’m not hungry,” Mike dismisses. He’s got his head in his hands, lost in thought.</p><p>“I already made you a plate,” Lori frowns. She sets a bowl of spaghetti in front of him. “Bon appetit,” she wishes him, muttering under her breath.</p><p>For some reason, it’s the spaghetti that does it. It always reminds him of Tim. He’ll never tell Lori. Mike likes her cooking, too, but always misses the garlic bread on the side. He swears Tim used to make it with crack.</p><p>Mike sighs. He doesn’t say anything but Lori figures him out anyway. He rarely gets in these moods about anything - or anyone - else.</p><p>“You’re thinking about him,” Lori points out. They both know who “him” is. She perches on the edge of the sofa, always keeping her distance when she knows Tim is on the brain.</p><p>Mike nods. “You don’t ever…?”</p><p>Lori shakes her head. “Not the way you do.”</p><p>Mike steeples his fingers in front of his face.</p><p>“You remember over the summer? Seeing the National Guard on the steps of the Lincoln Monument? It was like something out of a movie. But Tim warned us, didn’t he? In 1994, he warned us.”</p><p>“What do you think he’d say?”</p><p>“I don’t know what to think,” Mike admits honestly. “He’d be mad people are going this far over something so foolish,” Mike decides. How an inept tyrant engendered the loyalty of so many, while serious problems went ignored, would mystify Tim. “But he’d be hooting and hollering at some of this.”</p><p>Tim was always more loyal to the Constitution than any man. The idiocy of the American president is just one more example of the federal government’s incompetence.</p><p>Mike and Lori watch news report after news report, mainlining each broadcast. The anchors keep saying this is the worst thing in America’s collective memory since 9/11. Mike remembers how on <i>that</i> morning they’d said it was the worst day of its kind since Oklahoma City. </p><p>There isn’t a week that goes by where Mike doesn’t live with the pain that he’s caused, but that doesn’t mean that Tim’s absence hurts any less.</p><p>Mike’s next thought is chilling. “He’d be upset that he hadn’t had the guts to go all the way.”</p><p>Mike goes quiet, getting caught up in the memory. He ducks his head, trying to hide his face. </p><p>“Are you crying?” Lori asks gently.</p><p>“Why?” It’s the only word Mike can get out — a strangled, lonely sound. “Why did he have to actually go through with it?”</p><p>Lori doesn’t have a good answer.</p><p>Mike tries to bury his sob, his frame shaking. He pulls off his glasses to wipe his eyes. “I wish he was here.” </p><p>Mike’s been wishing that for twenty years now.</p><p>“You should stop watching. Turn on something else. Something funny,” Lori suggests, eyes trained on her husband.</p><p>Mike shakes his head. Tim would want him to keep watching the news. “He’d want to keep watching,” he says under his breath.</p><p>“Yeah, he would,” Lori agrees with a smile. “The two of you would have been glued to the TV set all night.”</p><p>Sometimes, when Lori says things like that, it seems like she might not resent him. </p><p>“It’s like watching a train wreck,” she adds.</p><p>“Worse.” More like <i>The Turner Diaries</i>.</p><p>Mike turns his attention back to the television. Tim would have scoffed, would have thought most of these idiots were morons. One of the fucking yahoos is wearing face paint and a headdress. They might as well be dressed in costumes. </p><p>The worst thing? Nobody’s doing a thing to stop them. Mike doesn’t support the use of CS gas on innocent American citizens, but these men are not so innocent, he decides. They’re just walking right in with weapons and zip ties. People are storming the U.S. Capitol, grins on their faces, fucking Lady Liberty in the ass. To do what? Steal a podium?</p><p><i>Tim would have outdone these fools</i>. It’s a thought Mike tries not to have.</p><p><i>Don’t they have someone they love?</i> Mike wonders. Isn’t there anyone they want to protect from pain - or perhaps that’s why they’re doing it in the first place? Some misguided nobility. Maybe someone could have stopped Tim, or stopped these people, if only they’d done something else. Maybe if he’d loved Tim more, maybe if he’d gone on more road trips, maybe if he had kissed him back in the Arizona desert under the vast star-studded sky that last time. Maybe, maybe, maybe.</p><p>Maybe not.</p><p>After they eat in silence, Lori stays up for a while with Mike, but he can tell her heart’s not in it. He never blames her. Tim has a hold on him, still. She eventually kisses his temple, bids him goodnight, and turns off the light.</p><p>Mike turns down the volume on the TV when she disappears to bed, unable to put the events of the day out of his head. January 20th will be here soon. Who knows what’s to come?</p><p>Finally getting sleepy, Mike closes his eyes, trying to remember. He doesn’t have any photographs of Tim anymore; the FBI confiscated every last one. It doesn’t matter. Tim’s lanky figure is burned on the back of his eyelids.</p><p>Mike ends up falling asleep on the sofa. His dreams lead him to an open highway and an old Jeep with the top down. The road is new but the scene feels instantly familiar. It’s almost as if Mike can feel the sun on his cheeks, the wind in his hair, the way his beating heart picks up speed. He dreams of a face he hasn’t seen in years and the bluest eyes he’s ever known.</p><p>When Mike wakes up, the space beside him is still empty.</p>
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